


protection is a form of devotion

by Envish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Derek Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Incubus Character, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Married Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Protective Stiles Stilinski, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Takes Care Of Derek Hale, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:54:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25008052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Envish/pseuds/Envish
Summary: An incubus from the past shows up to pay Derek a surprise visit and finish the job it started years ago. What it didn't expect was for Derek's extremely protective, extremely powerful husband to be waiting for it.ORStiles is extremely protective of his husband, Derek is in awe of Stiles, and the incubus that thought it could easily attack either of them is in for a nasty surprise.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 13
Kudos: 374





	protection is a form of devotion

**Author's Note:**

> man, idk what this is lol.
> 
> See End Notes for details.

Derek comes home to an unusual sight. He pauses at the threshold of their home, staring across the room to where Stiles has, what looks like, another Stiles pinned by the throat against their dining room wall. His other hand is sunk, knuckle-deep, into the stomach of his doppelganger, blood ribboning down his wrist. Derek’s mouth falls open at that because — _holy shit_ — Stiles has never put his fist _through_ someone’s chest before.

“Stiles?” He asks cautiously. He can tell, instantly, that the one doing the pinning is his Stiles — his stature, his body, the tension thrumming through him, the way his magic smells, tastes in the air — all of it is easy to distinguish. That and the fact that very little is strong enough to overpower Stiles these days.

“Oh, hey babe,” Stiles says, casual as anything. His racing pulse betrays his tone of voice. That and the waves of anger and deep, deep rage that are rolling off him, cloying and suffocating. “Welcome home. How was shopping?” His calmness puts Derek on alert as he toes off his shoes and places the groceries on the stairs.

The doppelganger’s eyes snap to him and it grins — a slow, feral grin. His — no, not his, its — eyes rove Derek from head to toe, sliding over his skin like oil. Derek’s heart almost stops — he knows that look. That face. It’s unmistakable. He’s growling before he realizes, teeth elongating and claws sliding out. He moves to stand by Stiles, not touching him, but still able to feel the tension radiating off him. Stiles is emanating an insane amount of power; it’s thick in the air, heavy on the back of Derek’s tongue.

“Ah,” Stiles says, noticing Derek’s reaction to the incubus, “I see you remember our —” he twists his hand sharply. “— _friend_ here.” The doppelganger chokes, blood spurting out from between its teeth. It still manages to leer at Derek, fluttering its lashes. Derek snarls, letting his shift spill over his features; he’s itching to sink his claws into it and tear it apart.

“Aw, you remember me, baby?” It licks the blood off its lips, forked tongue flicking between its teeth. Derek’s stomach roils. “Was that good was I? Better than the real thing. Does he fuck you like—” he’s cut off suddenly, eyes bulging as it chokes. Stiles is grinning ferociously.

Despite the afternoon light falling through the dining room window, Stiles’ face is shrouded in shadow. He’s angry, seething with an anger so deep, so vicious, it’s near palpable. Derek shifts towards him automatically, but Stiles tenses up, shaking his head. Derek halts, reading his body language easily.

“Derek, honey,” Stiles says through clenched teeth. “Back up, please. I don’t want you anywhere near this thing.” Derek obeys without a second thought, letting Stiles keep himself between the incubus and him. He’s never seen Stiles this angry before. It’s a little terrifying — Derek isn’t sure how in control he is over his magic, but he doesn’t feel endangered. His wolf is on edge, rippling beneath the surface of his skin, but not fearful of Stiles. He trusts his instincts, and he trusts his husband.

Stiles’ eyes have gone completely black — iris, sclera, everything — something Derek sees very rarely. Stiles’ tattoos are glowing a deep red, twining and shifting around his arms and neck. Derek’s back feels hot where his own tattoo is, undoubtedly, glowing as well — a sign that Stiles is not okay. He only draws from their bond when he’s unstable and his control begins to unravel.

Stiles mutters something under his breath and the incubus gasps, vocal chords released from their spell. “Someone’s bitter,” it rasps out. “And jealous. Still mad that I took your precious first time from loverboy over there?” It grins toothily, teeth just too sharp to be human. “You can’t blame me, can you? I mean look at him.” His gaze starts to slide away, but Stiles jerks his head and its eyes snap back to his face.

“Keep your fucking eyes off him,” Stiles snarls, sounding more wolf than man. Derek’s unbearably grateful for his husband in that moment. “He’s not a piece of meat, you fucking piece of shit.” The hand inside the incubus — Derek is still reeling from that — sinks deeper, past the knuckles. The incubus groans in pain, eyes squeezing shut for a moment, before forcing a weak grin back on its face.

“I would be pissed that you took that from us—” Stiles says, voice gone dangerously quiet. “—That you would take that from him.” His fingers tighten around its neck. “But you didn’t take anything, really. You’re nothing to him — nothing to us.” Stiles leans in close, speaking directly into the creature’s ear. “You don’t matter at all.” The incubus bares its teeth at that, gnashing its fangs uselessly.

Stiles smiles darkly and straightens. “But I will kill you for putting your hands on him.” The scent of his magic thickens, settling like a mantle around him. “No one touches him without his consent without answering to me.” The incubus drops all pretense at that, it’s face going slack with shock. It clearly underestimated Stiles — as do most monsters.

Stiles starts muttering under his breath — latin, an exorcism — and the incubus starts to panic, thrashing wildly against Stiles’ grip, despite the hand that’s embedded in it’s chest. It’s stinking with fear; Derek’s lip curls up into a grin at that.

Stiles leans in close to it one last time, snarls “go to hell,” then wrenches his hand up and in. The incubus’ chest tears like tissue paper, parting around his fist with a sickly squelching sound. Stiles yanks his hand out and the limp body slides down the wall, leaving behind a smear of gore on the wall. And Stiles —

Stiles is holding a still-beating heart in his hand.

“Fucking finally,” Stiles seethes, his body still rigid with tension. “I’ve been hunting that bastard for years.” He tightens his grip, squeezing until the heart explodes in his fist, sending viscera and blood in all directions. His heavy, laboured breathing is the only sound in the ensuing silence. Derek feels rooted to the floor, and for a moment wonders if Stiles has also cast a spell on him.

Stiles’ tattoos flare bright white for a brief moment, then go out suddenly, back to their usual inky black. The sudden loss of red light makes the room seem suddenly dimmer. Stiles sways dangerously and reaches a hand back towards Derek, searching. “Der?” His voice snaps Derek out of whatever daze he was in.

Derek goes to him immediately, sliding an arm around his waist, drawing him into his body. “I’m here,” he murmurs, gently pulling him away from the corpse at their feet. Stiles goes, folding into his chest, letting Derek steer them toward the kitchen. Derek dips a nose down behind his ear, down his neck, relieved when his scent is void of blood or pain.

Stiles goes a bit boneless when Derek starts washing the blood off his hands at the sink, letting his head drop back against his shoulder. Derek drops a kiss against the corner of his jaw. “You okay?” He turns the tap on, running the water over his fingers until the temperature is warm enough.

Stiles sighs, rubs his forehead against Derek’s neck. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just tired. I should be asking you that, what with all the—” Stiles waves a hand around, splashing water onto the counter. “—y’know. Stuff that happened last time.” Stiles is loathe to say anything more, as is Derek.

“I’m —” Derek pauses, collects his thoughts. “I don’t know. A bit shaken, but mostly relieved, and a bit turned on, to be honest. I’ve never seen you put a fist through someone’s chest before.”

Stiles snickers. “Is this a new kink, Derek? Should we get our checklists out again and update yours?”

Derek bites his ear in retaliation. “You’re the one that just ripped an incubus’ heart out,” Derek says. “I’m more worried about you than me.” He twists his wedding band, carefully rinsing the blood out from under it.

“Fuck.” Stiles sighs. “I sort of lost control when I saw it. Fucking nerve it had, coming to our home,” Stiles says darkly. The tattoos around his wrists start to flare again, vibrating with fury. Derek brings his hand up to his mouth, kisses the cleaned wedding ring.

“I’ve never seen you that angry,” Derek says quietly, drying off Stiles’ clean hands. When he’s done, Stiles turns in the circle of his arms, hands coming up to cradle his jaw. His eyes are back to their usual, stunning amber colour.

“I’ve never been that angry before,” Stiles admits. “As soon as I saw it — as soon as I knew what it was, something inside me snapped. I saw red, Derek. I’ve never lost control like that before.”

The only other time Stiles has lost control was when his father had been held hostage by a group of hunters. He’d razed the hunter’s compound to the ground, tearing down anyone in his path. His magic had been so out of control that it had lashed out at a few members of the pack before he burned himself out and collapsed.

Derek turns his head to press a kiss against his palm, recalling how terrified he had been when Stiles suddenly blacked out in the middle of the battle. He’d been fine (he’s always fine), but seeing him get hurt never gets easier. “You seemed remarkably in control to me. Otherwise you would’ve tried to hurt me, right?”

Stiles shakes his head vehemently. “Never. I’d never be able to hurt you; my magic knows you. It would go against the very nature of it.” The very nature of it? Derek makes a mental note to ask Stiles about that later.

Derek hums. “Must be why my wolf wasn’t afraid of you. You were giving off crazy amounts of power, but I didn’t feel like I was in any danger.” He recalls something Stiles had said when he had the incubus by the throat. “Hold on — you said you had been hunting it for years? Ever since —?” He breaks off.

Stiles narrows his eyes at the dead body. Tendrils of black start to bleed back into his sclera, and he looks suspiciously like he’s going to try to kill the thing again, even though it's dead. Derek gently refocuses him with a nudge and his eyes clear with a shake of his head. “Right, right.” Stiles sets his jaw. “After — after it attacked you six years ago and we failed to kill it, the thing disappeared. Scott wasn’t concerned, Deaton wasn’t concerned — no one was concerned. This literal demon appeared, preyed on you, then vanished.”

Stiles is shaking under his hands, his face stormy as he recalls what had transpired so many years ago. Derek fights to keep the specifics out of his mind; the incubus that had appeared to him wearing Stiles’ face, near the beginning of their relationship. Not-Stiles showing up at his door, pressing into his space. The hazy mix of hormones and pheromones thickening the air. The too-wide grin. The wrongness of his scent. The slow realization that the thing under his hands wasn’t Stiles. The panic, the rising wave of nausea.

A hand strokes down the length of his spine, pulling him out of his own head, out of the memory. The shreds of that night fall away, scattering as their kitchen comes back into focus. He moves a hand over Stiles’ chest, finding the place where his heart is thudding against his ribs. “You with me?” Stiles asks softly. Derek nods, not trusting his voice.

Stiles considers him for a moment, checking to make sure he's actually okay, before continuing. “After that, I started hunting it. I tracked it for years, but it vanished every time I came close to pinpointing it. I never did catch it. It came back for you,” Stiles says darkly, his eyes flashing. “It came to finish you off since it didn’t get the chance to all those years ago. Luckily,” Stiles smirks meanly, “it was not expecting me.”

“It clearly didn’t do its research. It started taunting me, telling me everything it wanted to do to you — my husband — to my face. I don’t know what it expected me to do, but that was when I absolutely lost it.” His face turns thunderous again as he glowers over Derek’s shoulder. Derek slides a hand under his shirt to rub at his warm skin, settling both of them. The tension bleeds out of Stiles a little at the skin-to-skin contact.

“You know, I do enjoy being underestimated,” Stiles says wistfully. “I love the looks on their faces when I pull one over them. Never gets old.” Derek presses a laugh to his sweaty forehead. “Anyways, that’s when you showed up, I guess. I sort of lost track of time for a bit there.”

“Stiles — I — _thank you_ ," is all Derek can muster. They've saved each other countless times, without question, but something about this leaves Derek overwhelmed, speechless.

“Der, you don’t have to thank—”

“That's not what I meant. I just — I need you to know that I’m grateful for you, for what you do for me. For us.” He punctuates with a squeeze.

Stiles sighs, but Derek can tell he gets it. He always does. “Fine. You’re welcome." Then, fiercely and tenderly: "I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“I know. Love you,” Derek murmurs into his hair. Stiles hums, tilting his head up to seek out Derek’s mouth in response. They kiss, slow and life affirming, something unspoken hanging heavily in the air between them.

Derek has always been used to being the protective one; he’s quick to anger, fiercely protective, and self sacrificing. He’s the first into every battle, uses his body like a weapon, and loves as hard as he fights. But Stiles — brilliant, powerful, devoted Stiles — is just as protective of Derek as Derek is of Stiles. And between the two of them? There’s little that can tear them apart.

**Author's Note:**

> Implied/References Non-con: Near the very beginning of their relationship, before they were really official, an Incubus appearing as Stiles "seduced" Derek (Stiles and Derek were already kinda dating at this point) and slept with him. Since Derek thought he was sleeping with Stiles, this was a non-consensual sex act with the Incubus. In addition, it is implied that Derek started to realize that it wasn't really Stiles during sex, and Derek does eventually figure it out by the end. Stiles and Derek work through it, don't worry! There is the realization, a good amount of communication (and therapy, but I have decided that both of them were already going to therapy anyways like any healthy couple does), and Stiles starts to secretly hunt down the incubus during his free time.
> 
> Another note: During the dialogue between incubus and Stiles, we learn that the incubus thinks that they ruined Derek and Stiles' relationship because they were the first one to sleep with Derek (while they were masquerading as Stiles), and that they "stole" their first time from them. From Stiles and Derek's POV, this isn't the case because Derek and Stiles still had their first time together, and nothing the incubus did took away from that.


End file.
